Scammed
by gingerchangeling
Summary: Emma just wanted to relax at the end of her day. But there are always those annoying scam calls...
1. Chapter 1

Inspired by this post- post/184630841312/answered-a-scam-call-today-and-had-the-most  
If this is well received, I would be inclined to continue it. But for now, I'm leaving it as is.

Emma sighed as she flopped down onto the couch, savoring finally being off her feet after a long night in her highest heels, because there was a newbie at the station who insisted on doing everything by the book. Which meant that Emma had had to stay until every single piece of paperwork was filed before she would get paid. And unfortunately, being at the precinct so long meant that she had ready access to mediocre free coffee.

So rather than try to lay in her bed and force herself to sleep, Emma decided to savor the night, or rather early morning. So she opted for some background Netflix radiation, some Youtube scrolling, and a glass of wine.

She was three episodes on netflix, a second glass of wine, and probably fifty "Up Next" videos into her evening when her phone started ringing. She tiredly pulled it from her pocket, not really bothering to look at it as she absentmindedly swiped to answer it, her eyes still watching the "DIY Zipline From Your Balcony" video.

"'Lo?" she mumbled, expecting the office.

"Oh I am so glad we were finally able to reach you, lass!"

Emma was abruptly pulled from her fugue state by a British-accented voice that was definitely not Leroy's. She pulled the phone away from her ear to look at the number.

_Cranford, New Jersey_

Who the fuck would be calling her from Cranford, New Jersey? Who the fuck would even want to be in a place called _Cranford?_

She brought the phone back to her ear, "I'm sorry, who is this?"

There was a practiced, easy laugh from the line, "Oh sorry, I thought they warned you we were going to be calling. This is IT. We received a notice that your IP address had been compromised and the higher ups asked us to make sure your computer was secured."

Emma bit her lip to keep her laugh in as she realized exactly what was going on. And because the next video on autoplay was some weird "Turn Your Tampons Into Ring Stands" craft video, she thought that maybe this might offer a bit more entertainment.

And if she like the man's voice, so sue her, it was three in the morning.

So Emma answered, "Did they?"

"Aye," and there it was, she could hear, just under the charming joviality of a well-practiced customer service voice, the ring of victory in his tone. "So if you just want to get to your laptop and get things set up, I'll walk you through it."

"Oh yeah sure, ok." She nodded her head to make sure her voice was just the right tone of gullibly agreeable. "Let me just boot it up."

"Excellent, lass."

She could practically see him rubbing his hands together, cracking them, and then settling above his keyboard, his little hacker den all dark save the green of the code displayed on his computer, a clunky headset on and a half drunk soda next to his stack of porn magazines.

She grinned at the mental image before shaking her head to get the smile off her face. She needed to get into character. She arranged her features a few different times until she found the suitably coy innocent expression that should giver her voice just the right tone to serve her purpose.

Then she put on her best blonde impression as she spoke.

"So like, I don't know all that much about computers. But you guys are calling really late! They must work you all to the bone in IT!" She paused, allowing the boost to flow through the phone and into her would-be IT guy's probably very tiny dick.

"Aye, that they do. The digital world never sleeps and so neither do we." She could tell he bought it by the faux sympathetic and slightly condescending answer. "And don't worry about your inexperience. Just listen to me and I'll hold your hand through the whole thing."

"Oh I'm so glad to hear that. I am always so worried about someone managing to get my information off my computer. I'm so glad you'll help me fix it."

"Oh lass, after I'm through with you, it won't be even a background thought anymore," his tone turned lascivious, and she rolled her eyes. Men were so easy, and she was already bored of this game. And the next video was about "Ten Neat Tricks to Remove a Blood Stain" and that one seemed like it was going to be helpful.

So she just moved in for the kill.

"Just a quick question though," she didn't bother with the faux diction. And she knew he'd noticed because the line was deadly silent for a second.

Then he inquired warily, "….Aye, and that is?"

"Is that honestly the best you could come up with?"

There was another pregnant pause, before, "I don't know what you are referring to lass."

"Is 'I'm your IT guy' really the best one you could come up with? Like if you are going to try and scam someone, at least put some effort into it."

"I'm not trying to scam you lass, I'm trying to fix your laptop," his voice became a little earnest and he started talking more quickly. She could practically smell the sweat beading on his brow. "It's very vulnerable right now and the higher ups have-"

"Bud, I _am_ the higher ups in my job."

"...Ah."

"Yep," she popped the P with immense satisfaction. "Also, three in the morning? Really?"

"Well you are awake too, so I feel like you can't be throwing stones on that score, love."

She blinked as the accent abruptly turned throater and more like a growl, a thick Irish brogue that no longer carried the faux pleasantry of a service call, but rather an indignant irritation. She popped an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, I'm calling you out on your bullshit scam attempt and you are criticizing my sleeping schedule?"

There was another pause, before he mumbled, "I'm just sayin'."

Emma's lips twitched, "Right. Well Mr. 'I'm just saying,' I'm going to hang up now so I can watch my video on "Ten Neat Tricks to Remove a Blood Stain."

"I'm sorry, what?" there was a sudden sharpness to his voice, and it took Emma a second to figure out why. She must have had more wine than she thought, because the moment she did, she burst out laughing.

"Oh!... No….. It's not…. Oh my god….It's…... that's hilarious," she couldn't stifle her laughing enough to get a full sentence out.

"Lass?" his voice growled in a warning tone, frustration evident in his tone.

"Sorry, sorry," she wiped her eyes as she managed to slowly subdue her chuckles. "I just…. Oh god, this is hilarious….. I was watching a Youtube video on penguins a few hours ago, and somehow ended up on the DYI channel. I mean the last video was on DYI crafts with tampons so…." She broke off into another set of errant giggles.

"Oh." There was another long pause. "Erm, my apologies lass. I.. um … didn't-" his voice now sounded chagrined and extremely uncomfortable.

Emma cleared her throat to chase away the last of her laughter, before she continued with a broad smile, "And you have to admit there is a certain bit of irony that the dude who called me at three in the morning to try and scam me out of my money is making moral judgements on my character."

"...Right. Point taken."

"Ok Mr. Scam Man-" she snorted at herself, "I would really like to return to my bottle of wine now so I'll bid you a good night. Good luck with your next calls…. I guess. Come up with something better though. Like not even someone's grandma would fall for that."

"Alas, love, you'd be quite astounded at how many people are not a clearly discerning as you. And, um…... before you go, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

She shrugged, not really thinking about it. There was another pause. "Did you just ...shrug at me?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah," she nodded, repeated the action to demonstrate.

"Love, you do realize that you are still talking on the phone right?" now his voice was affectionately amused.

"Oh, right." The adrenaline and caffeine crash that she'd been waiting on suddenly slammed into her full force, and she let out a huge yawn. "Sorry, 'Scuse me. Seems like my day's finally catchin' up with me." She mumbled to herself, before remembering that he'd wanted to ask her something. "So go ahead Mr. Scam Man- shoot."

The line was quiet again for a moment, before the man asked his question.

"I just… why did you answer the phone if you knew it was a scam call?"

"Well, I dinin at first, thought you were the office."

"Then why did you play along?"

She shrugged again, "Dunno. Bored, I guess. Thought it'd be funny 'cause you were probly e'cpetin an old granny or somethin to pick up. So better luck tomorrow, I guess."

"Would you pick up the phone tomorrow if I tried to scam you again?"

Her brow furrowed, her tired mind not quite making sense of the question.

"Uh no, probably not. I mean, I guess you could try? Like, it's your life, can't tell you what to do. But like, if you do, you need to make it better."

He gave a quiet laugh and she couldn't help but smile along with it, "I thought you just said that you couldn't tell me what to do, love?"

"Oh. Well consider it a professional recommendation. One con to another or something like that." Her brow furrowed, something off about her comment, but, "God I'm too tired for this."

There was another gentle laugh, "Then you best get yourself to bed love. Make sure to drink some water before you go, maybe take a few Advil. Wine can give you an awful headache the morning after."

"Wine's not the only thing," she muttered.

A surprised, delighted laugh jarred her slightly back into higher awareness. "Aye, I'm sure that's true as well." He gave another chuckle. "I'll let you sleep now love. Drink some water. And…" she actually heard him swallow. "Sleep deeply and dream well tonight."

"That's an odd turn of phrase."

"Aye, but I get the feeling that you don't get either very often, so….. I truly hope you do tonight. Good night love."

The call ended with a soft click.

Emma pulled her phone away to stare at the now dark screen, before asking the empty air around her, "What the _fuck_ was that?"


	2. Chapter 2

I apologize for nothing. Cheers ;)

Ch. 2

Emma stared at the files spread out before her, trying to find a pattern. But there wasn't one. Her perp seemed to pick locations at random. Her irritation was growing along with a throbbing behind her eyes as she felt the beginnings of a headache kick in.

She was just debating getting up to get some Advil when her phone started vibrating on the table beside her.

_Cranford, New Jersey_

The evening before suddenly came rushing back to her. She'd completely forgotten about it. She considered declining the call, but her curiosity got the better of her, and against her better judgement she picked up the phone, tapping the screen to answer.

"This is Swan."

"Good evening," Emma had to bite her lip at the ridiculously thick southern accent drawling at her out of the phone. "We've been tryin to reach y'all 'bout your debit card. It appears that it has been compromised. Would ya mind entering the number in the key pad to confirm your card number?"

She remained silent, not acknowledging the words at all, waiting to see what he'd do. Seconds ticked by, and she could hear his little huff of air the moment he broke.

"Awwww come one love, that one was good!" he whined. The southern accent had vanished, the Irish brogue from the night before taking its place.

Emma bit her lip to still her smile, suddenly feeling much better.

"That was terrible. Have you ever actually heard someone from the south talk? And you need to be more patient. How do you know I wasn't just being quiet while I entered in my debit card information?"

"Bloody hell, you make one mistake and now everyone's a critic," he grumbled, and she couldn't help the tiny laugh that worked its way out. "Oh I see, let's all laugh at the scam guy." But there was no bite to his words. He allowed a moment before, "So, how was your day love? Hope it was better than mine."

"And what could happen to the big bad hacker that would put him in a bad mood. Someone call the police on you?"

"'M not a hacker," he mumbled. "And no, my stupid ass … partner… spilled his coffee on my laptop and the whole sodding thing was fucked to hell. Had to shell out for a new one."

Emma scoffed, "Yeah because heaven forbid you not rob people of their money for a night."

There was a pause, "Aye, it'd be a travesty." Something about the way he said it sounded off to her, but the next moment he continued, "And how about you love? Did you find any more good ways to remove blood stains?"

It took her a second to figure out what the hell he was talking about, before she gave a little laugh, "Not today, no."

"Ah that's a shame." There was another pause, and she could actually feel him thinking. Then she heard him begin tentatively, "Tell me, love, would you-"

There was a loud knock on the front door, followed by, "Emma it's me!"

"Fuck," she muttered. "Look, I gotta run, Mr. Scam Man. Duty is currently knocking on my door."

"EMMA, EMMA, IT'S ME, LET ME IN."

"Alright, I'll bid you a pleasant evening then lass."

Emma scoffed, "Right, probably gonna need something a little stronger than that."

"EMMA I KNOW YOU ARE HOME I SAW YOUR SILLY LITTLE CAR OUT FRONT."

"Is it your landlord, love?"

Emma scoffed, "No its my boyfriend. Do a better accent next time." Then she hung up.

"EMMA."

She rolled her eyes as she moved to the door, pulling open to take in Walsh, his hand raised to knock again. "Hey Walsh."

"What took you so long to answer the door?"

Emma suppressed another eye roll, "I was finishing going to the bathroom."

He instantly turned to glare at her hands, "You washed them didn't you?"

"Yes Walsh. I washed my hands. Now would you like to come in or are we just going to visit in the hallway?"

"Ahahaha very funny," he laughed as he stepped into her apartment. And as she closed the door behind her boyfriend of a year, she couldn't help but think that Walsh's laugh had nothing on her stange Irish scammer.

"Yeah, yeah I got it Graham, now leave me alone- Hello this is Swan."

"Hello this is Bob from Amazon. There has been an issue with your account."

"I'm sorry, you can't even do a southern accent correctly and you thought switching to Indian was a good way to go?"

"A man needs to get adventurous now and again, love."

"This one had better be good because Game of Thrones is on right now."

"Indeed miss, this is actually Phillip from your cable provider."

"Hearing a New York accent from you is just wrong. Now shut up and let me watch."

"Have Jamie and Brienne finally succumbed to it yet love? I only saw the premiere."

"Heh, they weren't the only ones. Bye!"

"Wait no, love you can't just-"

"Sorry, I can't right now, I'm in the middle of something."

"Aye love then I'll leave you to it."

"You better make this fucking good because I am not in the fucking mood right now."

"You alright love? Everything ok?"

"No."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"No."

"Alright. Well, did you know that secretarial shorthand was actually first developed by the slave of the Roman orator Cicero because the man talked so much and his slave couldn't keep up. And the slave became so proficient at it that soon other scribe-slaves were paying him for lessons in his shorthand. He ended up being so successful teaching his method that he was able to buy his freedom with the money he made."

"...That's actually really cool."

"Aye, it is, isn't it?"

The calls from Mr. Scam Man had become one of the favorite parts of her day. Regardless of what was going on, he always managed to make her smile, and the only thing she looked forward to more than seeing Cranford, New Jersey on her phone was when Henry's smiling face would light up her screen.

His calls had become less regular since he'd started school again, and she knew that Regina was not always the most encouraging about having him call her. But she would take anything she could get. She still remembered the first time he'd called, a phone number from _Storybrooke, Maine_ lighting up her display. On a whim, she'd answered it to the sweet voice saying, "Hi I'm Henry, I'm your son."

It had taken several month of communication with his adoptive mother and mayor of their little city before the woman had allowed Emma visitation. Emma had gone up to Storybrooke, and quite by accident, ended up befriending several of the locals, including the two people who were, without a doubt, her best friends.

Mary Margaret and her husband David had heard that she was visiting and invited her over for dinner. Or rather David invited her, and Mary Margaret commanded her to be there at 7. So she had been.

It had been several years since that first visit, and Henry meant more to her than anything. But Regina, at one point, had made a comment about Emma being unable to have a _normal_ life. So Emma had set out to do just that. She set herself more normal working hours, unless she absolutely had to go after the skip. She made an effort to make more meals at home, rather than always ordering take out. Then she waded back into the dating pool.

She'd met Walsh through a friend of Leroy, of all people. And all in all it was.. Fine. The scars of a decade ago still smarted, but Walsh was easy going, normal in an almost bland kind of way. But it was … nice. Being able to prove to herself that she wasn't too broken to have a normal life.

It was true that he'd been a little overbearing as of late. A little clingy. Which was really starting to wear on her. And he was getting a little boring, always going on about his furniture store. And he seemed to be a lot more concerned about his image, making little jabs at outfits and behaviors he thought _unseemly._

But she was happy….ish. She had a job she enjoyed, and boyfriend who treated her ok, regular calls with her son. And now she had her random daily calls from an Irish stranger.

She should have expected the other shoe to drop. She should have known better.

Her day could not get any worse. And to top it all off, despite her now sprained ankle, Walsh insisted on dinner out and had dropped to one knee and asked her to _marry him_. And she had a bum leg so running away was hard. But she gave it a good ol' college try anyway. All the way out to the parking lot before she realized he had driven and her place was miles away.

The ride back was just the frosting on her fucked-up-day cake. He spent the entire time telling her that she was selfish and all of the benefits that would come from being married to him. By the time she hobbled up the stairs to her door, she was just about at her wits end.

She went to close the door behind her, separating herself from Walsh by several inches of solid oak and some lovely locks, but when he shoved against it, she could not use the full weight of her body with her leg being the way it was, and the door slammed open. And there was something unsettling about the look in his eyes.

So she snatched her phone from her purse and hurried into the living room, making a b-line for the side table, under which was strapped her revolver.

"Where the fuck do you think you are going? We aren't finished yet," Walsh snarled as he followed her into the living room. Emma bent down, yanking the gun from its holster, using the phone in her other hand to brace the weapon. Right as she brought the weapon up to eye level, her phone began vibrating. It startled her and the hand holding her gun bounced slightly from where she had it resting on the screen. The phone stilled.

She quickly recovered, glad that the phone had stopped ringing as she refocused on where Walsh stood, surprise coloring the black anger on his face.

"Oh what? I ask you to marry me and you make me a laughing stock in front of the whole restaurant and then shoot me?"

Her voice was steady, "Walsh, I think it's time for you to leave now."

"You know," he said, looking completely unconcerned by the .22 pointing at his face, "since it looks like I won't be getting another chance to, I just wanted to tell you that the only reason I wanted to marry you is because of how good a fuck you give."

Emma blinked, her aim wavering ever so slightly. "What?" she whispered.

He laughed, "What you think I actually loved you? Are you fucking kidding me? No one could love a bitch like you. Not even your own parents. I'm starting to understand why that guy sent you to jail. If you were as clingy then as you are now, I completely understand why he'd want to make sure you were fucking as far away from him as he could get."

Emma felt her chest constrict as her hands began to shake.

"No one could ever love you. Once an orphan, always an orphan."

With that parting jeer, Walsh turned on his heel and left, slamming the door in its frame on his way out. Absentmindedly, she made a note to herself to change the locks, because she had given him a key at some point. But the rest of her world was starting to swim as his words ricocheted around her head.

_No one could ever love you._

It was getting hard to breath and she felt her knees give out, her hands dropping to her sides, fingers too weak to hold their contents any longer. The gun and phone fell to the floor. She landed hard on her ankle, sending a massive shot of agony through her system, drawing a quiet cry of pain from her. It was the straw that broke the camel's back and before she could stop it, she started crying.

The weight of the day- from waking up after sleeping through her alarm, to the spilled coffee that ruined her favorite sweater, to the pathetic and beseeching eyes of Graham as he tried again to ask her out then had the gall to act offended when she turned him down again, to the skip that had been waiting for her at her car to try and take her out with a tire iron, after completely trashing the Bug, to giving chase and slipping and falling down a flight stairs and fucking up her ankle, to having to ask Graham of all people to take her to the hospital while trying to ignore his doe-eyed looks, to getting a call that Regina was delaying Henry's stay, and he would be up in Maine for another few weeks, to her insurance not going through, to having Walsh demand that she be available for dinner that evening and needing Graham to drive her home to get ready for the date because her car was fucked, and now this- it was too much.

In a sudden flash, her despair turned to violent anger, and without thinking about it, she grabbed her phone from where it was laying, and with a scream of fury and anguish, threw it against the wall. It took her a moment to register the shattered screen, and then the full implications of the day hit her. She couldn't work, her boyfriend was gone, breaking her heart on the way out, and her phone was now useless, so she couldn't receive calls from Henry or her Irish stranger. She was all alone again, like she always would be.

She just curled up right there on the floor, and sobbed.


	3. Chapter 3

Mary Margaret didn't even bat an eye when she opened the door.

"Morning! Come on in. I'll make some hot cocoa."

Once Emma had stopped crying that night at her apartment, she found herself in sort of a manic state. She packed up everything she could, googled the nearest U-Haul on her laptop, limped her way to the place to pick up the truck she reserved, went back to her apartment, threw everything she had into it, drove to where she'd left her Bug, hooked it up to the back after replacing the back two tires the skip had slashed, and just left.

It was close to midnight when she left, so by the time she'd pulled up in front of Mary Margaret's house, it was about three in the morning. Not wanting to wake the house that early, she'd just curled up in the front seat and tried to sleep. By seven, she couldn't take the waiting anymore, the voices in her head getting too loud and too convincing. So she'd trudged up the stairs, wincing with every step, hoping her friend wouldn't be too surprised to see her.

But as the woman in question bustled around the kitchen, Emma chastised herself. She should have known better. Of course Mary Margaret would be ready to welcome her at the door. It's the way she's been since the beginning.

She knew that the kitchen noise was to give her time to get comfortable. Mary Margaret had seen how Emma reacted when she was cornered. She also knew that Mary Margaret was dying to find out what had brought her to their door at seven in the morning. So she'd go about trying to get the information, Mary Margaret style.

Emma was still trying to figure out how to tell her friend what was going on when she heard David's heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. "Oh hey Emma. Has Mary Margaret gotten you cocoa yet? Or coffee?"

"You dare impugn my honor, husband?" came Mary Margaret's offended question. Her body followed her voice out of the kitchen. "Of course I have hot cocoa! AND COFFEE!" The woman breezed over to where Emma was sitting. "I present…. the mocha!" before offering the mug in her hand to Emma with a flourish.

Emma took the cup with a small, but grateful smile, letting the seemingly perpetual homey comfort of the Nolan's loft seep into her bones. It was like being draped in a warm blanket. She took a sip of the mocha, savoring the piping hot drink as it burned down her throat. Then she cleared her throat, preparing herself for the barrage.

But it never came. Mary Margaret just flopped back into the lazy boy across from her and picked up the book from the side table next to her and David just wandered over, dropped a kiss to his wife's head, ruffled her hair as he walked past, and called out "See ya!" as he walked out the door.

Emma was a little disconcerted, and eyed Mary Margaret warily over the rim of her mug, waiting for the woman to start. But Mary Margaret just continued to read, and eventually the warm brew now filling her up relaxed her until she was having trouble keeping her eyes open.

She was just debating on having to get up to put her mug away, when Mary Margaret stood up and came over. She grabbed the mug from her fingers as she pulled the blanket down from the back fo the couch.

"Why don't you rest a bit? We'll all be here when you're ready."

As Emma tipped sideways to lay out on the couch, practically over the threshold into sleep before she was even fully horizontal, she felt those words settle over her with the same comfort as the blanket Mary Margaret kept fussing with.

She slowly came back into awareness to the sound of a pan sizzling and quiet murmurs coming from the kitchen. She blinked her eyes open, squinting against the half light as she tried to drag her consciousness into full wakefulness. She could see that the shades had been drawn across the window, but that beyond, night had fallen.

She sat up, feeling the exhaustion that came with sleeping for too long, before pushing herself to her feet and slowing wandering over to the kitchen.

She had to blink a couple of times against the brightened light as she took in David standing at the stove, a pan with something delicious sizzling in it, and Mary Margaret leaning against the counter next to him, a glass of wine in her hand. Mary Margaret caught sight of her and gave her an easy smile.

"Just in time for dinner. I was going to wake you in a little bit if you hadn't gotten up."

Emma just nodded, eyes wandering over the kitchen, trying to order her thoughts.

She finally managed to pick out what was probably the most important one, "Hey can I use your phone?"

"Sure!" David reached behind Mary Margaret to grab the phone that had been laying there and turned, tossing it to her. Emma was glad that David had been doing that their entire acquaintance so she was expecting it. Otherwise she probably would have dropped it. As it was, it was a close call.

Once she had gotten her fumbling under control, she opened the phone up- which didn't have a passcode because Mary Margaret believed in everyone- and dialed Graham's number.

"Hello, who is this?" He sounded angry.

"Hey Graham, it's me."

"EMMA? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? WHERE ARE YOU?" He sounded frantic.

"Geez, calm down. I'm up in Storybrooke. I de-"

"Emma the police have been looking for you since yesterday!"

Now Emma was fully awake, "Wait what?"

"They got an anonymous phone call that requested a Health and Safety Check on your unit, because they thought there might be a chance that you might be in danger of some sort of domestic violence. When no one answered the door, they broke it down. Your place was ransacked, nothing was left, your phone was shattered. I got a call from the front desk at the station trying to figure out what was going on. We couldn't reach you. Had no idea where you could have gone. And I knew that Walsh had taken you out on a date…."

"Ok relax Graham. I'm ok. I'm fine," she soothed, trying to calm him down. "I just decided that since I was gonna be out of the game for a while with my leg, that I should take some time to come up and visit. That's all."

Graham let out a long breath, before asking quietly, "Then why was your place trashed? What happened?"

Emma had no desire to explain what had happened to the man who still actively pined after her. "I don't want to talk about it. Tell the police no crime has been committed, I am fine, nothing was stolen, ok?"

She didn't give him a chance to say anything, hanging up the phone quickly. The _police?_ Who would have called the cops? None of her neighbors cared enough, it was one of the reasons she'd rented that apartment to begin with. She stared down at the phone in her hand, trying to make sense of what Graham had told her.

"Emma?" she jerked around. "Everything alright?"

Mary Margaret was standing with two plates in her hands, head cocked to the side as she studied Emma.

She cleared her throat, "Yeah, sorry, everything's fine. Just a mix up at work."

Mary Margaret continued to study her for a moment longer, before she resumed putting the dishes down on the table, "Ok. I'm glad it wasn't anything too serious." But her tone told Emma that Mary Margaret wasn't buying the bullshit she was trying to sell. "Now- how hungry are you?"

Emma felt the unfamiliar warmth that only Mary Margaret and David seemed to be able to kindle within her as she nodded and settled herself down at the table. She allowed the comfort of her friends witty back and forth over their meal as they each discussed their day and the daily trials and tribulations of being a principle and a sheriff, the same loving bickering they'd had since the beginning.

_She was standing across the street from the large white mansion that resided at the address she'd been given. That Henry had given her. Her _son_. It had taken her 24 hours to decide to come to see him. 24 sleepless hours that were the most agonizing of her life, save the day she gave him up and the day she was arrested. She was constantly arguing herself into and then out of going to see him._

_She had called in sick because she knew that she wouldn't be able to get anything done with the storm in her mind, and so she'd wandered the streets until she'd ended up in a park, sitting on a bench, watching life happening all around her. _

_She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice anyone approaching until she felt something wet press against her knee. She startled, jerking away, only to see a chocolate lab sitting in front of her, the animal's wide brown eyes seeming to look saddened by her sudden retreat from its nose. _

"_Umm," she glanced around searching for the creature's owner, but there didn't appear to be anyone in sight seeking it out. Her eyes flicked back to it when the dog made a pathetic whining sound, dancing a bit on its paws before abruptly dropping to sit, its tail frantically swishing across the grass under it. _

_She still wasn't sure about the creature, never having had pets and really never wanting one. But the next moment, the dog shuffled forward just a little bit and dropped its head onto her bent knee, looking up at her pathetically. _

_And she just….gave in, reaching out to pet the animal. As soon as her hand made contact with its fur, the dog's head popped up and it opened its mouth in a happy pant, eyes closing in pleasure as she gave its ear a good scratch. The dog was so clearly in some sort of furry nirvana that she couldn't help but smile. _

_And it was in that moment, grinning down at the happy dog, that Emma had a kind of epiphany. That it was ok to take pleasure in little things. It was ok to ...ask to be pet, because chances are, the person being asked wants to be giving affection as much as you want to be receiving it. And then she wondered if Henry's smile was as happy and carefree as the one before her. _

_She realized she absolutely needed to know. _

_However, a loud shout of, "Merlin there you are you naughty dog!" pulled her from her musings. A handsome man about her age was jogging towards her, a book clutched in his hand. As the owner approached, she couldn't help but note how perfectly matched the dog and owner were. Both black with soulful brown eyes that seemed to radiate a calmness and tranquility._

"_My apologies."_

_She shook her head, "No, I should thank you. It was… just what I needed."_

_As the dog and his man walked away, Emma felt her resolve harden, and she immediately had gone home to pack._

_But now, here she was, not fifty feet from where she wanted to be, and she was terrified to take another step. She practically jumped out of her skin when she heard a woman ask from behind her, "You must be Henry's mother."_

_Emma whipped around to see a couple standing arm in arm approaching her on the sidewalk, both with easy and curious smiles on their faces. _

"_Unfortunately, Henry's on a school trip overnight, and he won't be back until tomorrow!" The woman seemed to have no concern volunteering this information to a stranger who had given no confirmation of her identity. Something of her incredulity and concern must have shown on her face, because the woman hurriedly spoke again. "Oh I'm Henry's teacher, he told me that he'd found you. And you do that same little shuffle that he does when he's deciding on whether or not to say something."_

_Emma's heart clenched at the idea that Henry might have some trait from her. She liked that thought. But then she realized that she would have to figure out what to do until he returned from his trip. _

_Then the man spoke up, "Hey why don't you join us for dinner this evening?"_

_Emma didn't even have a chance to respond before the woman gasped, "What a wonderful idea, David! Yes you come by at seven, that'll give me time to get everything ready. Here, give me your number." And without ceremony, the woman pulled out her phone, unlocked it, and offered it to her. "I'll text you our address. Can't wait to see you this evening!"_

_And just like that, the couple moved on, leaving Emma stunned in their wake._

She is brought back from her reminiscing when Mary Margaret clears her throat, "Emma?"

She gives herself a slight shake, "Yes ma'am?"

"Since we weren't expecting you, David and I had planned a little siore here to celebrate the start of the new school year."

"The theme is 'In the Mourning'," David cut in in with a grin. "Get it? Cause they are teachers so they're there in the morning, but it's a new school year so they are all in mourning. Get it, get it?"

"Oh quiet David." The smug grin he gives his wife makes Emma's lips twitch. "Now as I was saying, we arranged a little siore here at the house tomorrow night. I assume that you are planning on staying with us again, so I just wanted to give you a heads up." She wasn't quite sure what to make to the look Mary Margaret was giving her.

Emma had actively avoided getting to know anyone in town other than the couple before her and her son's adoptive mother, Regina. She generally had Henry come down and stay with her when Regina had deigned to allow it. But when she did come up to visit, she stayed with Mary Margaret and David, and kept Henry's company all to herself. She'd seen the judgemental looks that some of the townsfolk would send her way and she didn't feel the need to spend her time convincing them otherwise. She'd even managed to avoid any meetings with even Mary Margaret's and David's coworkers.

And suddenly, Emma came to a decision. It was time for her to stop running. Emma had realized that the things that she had always wanted as a child were there for her to take if she wanted to. And she was done being afraid that if she got to have them, that they would be less than everything her heart had hoped that they would be. So if she ran away from them, then she would never have the opportunity to be disappointed.

But the list of her regrets was getting longer with each passing day. So she decided, no more running away. She needed to start running _towards_ what she wanted, what she was searching for.

"Actually, that's probably a pretty good way to get things started."

Mary Margaret blinked in surprise, but it was David who spoke up, "What do you mean?"

Emma gave them a pained smile, already tasting regret on her tongue, but determined to see it through.

"Get started meeting people." She sucked in a breath, sealing her fate for herself. _For Henry_. "I've decided to move to Storybrooke."


	4. Chapter 4

Watching Henry's face light up when he saw her standing next to Regina when the school bus arrived back at their school made sure she didn't regret it. And the sheer dumb luck that David had received his deputy, August's, request for an extended leave of absence because his ailing father needed him made sure she could afford it. And in a coincidence that felt almost plot-designed to keep her in Storybrooke, she was able to find a small cottage on the shore that the owner cut her a deal on because it had been sitting vacant for so long. And, most importantly, Walsh had barely even crossed her mind.

But standing in the loft with Mary Margaret and David, ankle already throbbing from limping on her feet for so long, getting ready to help them welcome their guests to their little "siore," she was suddenly very much questioning every turn of fate that had allowed her to follow through on her impulsiveness. She still hadn't told Graham. Her lease was still good on her apartment. It would be so easy to back out.

But before she could make a break for it, there was a knock at the door. Emma felt her anxiety spike as she heard Mary Margaret's voice carry from the kitchen, "Oh! Is it time already?" There was a pause, and Emma could easily picture Mary Margaret frantically tidying herself up. Then, "Oh, he's always early!"

Then she watched Mary Margaret breeze out of the kitchen towards the door, opening it just as David stepped out of the bathroom and moved to stand beside her to greet their apparently early guest.

The open door was blocking her line of sight as she heard Mary Margaret chirp, "Oh! I'm so glad you could make it! He said he wasn't sure if you'd feel up to it!"

Then a low voice spoke, colored with an Irish accent, much to her surprise, "Aye, but I've been feeling better the last few days, so I decided to brave it. You know how he worries when he isn't nearby. He'll be up in just a mo', had to do something in the car. And you look just as vibrant as always, lass. David, good to see you mate."

She watched David step forward to offer a hand to the still disembodied voice, "You too. Why don't you come on in and sit down for a bit. No point tiring yourself out when you don't have to."

David and Mary Margaret stepped aside to allow their first guest in, and Emma couldn't help the curiosity that was sneaking up the crack of her anxiety. What she saw was not what she was expecting.

A man slowly stepped forward, his large frame radiating power, save for the fact that he was practically skin and bones. She had a feeling in his prime, this man would have been an intimidating presence, but the withered step with which he walked and the cane he clutched tightly in his hand to assist as his left foot dragged slightly on the ground negated any of that effect.

She wasn't really sure what to do. Should she step forward and introduce herself, or wait until he got to the couch or wherever he was heading?

But the choice was made for her when the man looked up and spotted her awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, using the throbbing pain to distract herself. She was shocked that despite his emaciated frame, his ice blue eyes were clear and sharp. It was apparent that while his body may have lost its strength, his mind had not.

He shot her a charming smile as he raised an eyebrow at her, "Well, hello there lass. Who might you be?"

She awkwardly shifted forward, going to offer her hand to shake, before realizing the cane was in his right hand. So she got stuck with her hand halfway out, and could not see a way out of it.

The man was absolutely no help. He made no move to reach out for her hand, and regarded her with his lips tilted up in a barely-suppressed smile of amusement as she tried to figure out what to do next.

As the seconds ticked by, Emma felt her face heat up violently, and she attempted to try and turn the aborted motion in a casual sort of half wave. "Hi. Good to meet you."

His eyes twinkled as he continued to regard her, and Emma was on the brink of just running out the door, party and guests be damned, when the man broke out into a wide smile, chuckling as he switched his cane to his left hand, extending his right to her.

"Aye, it's good to meet you lass."

She was thrown by the action but stuck her hand back out regardless, taking his hand to shake it. His palm was rough, but his muscles frail. Still, she could feel a sort of strength of spirit in his hands, like he could command his body to its former strength through force of will alone. She went to give it a shake, but he gently held her hand and brought the back of her fingers to his lips in the most gallant gesture that Emma had ever experienced.

His blue eyes sparkled as he watched her face, and Emma couldn't help the returning blush that suffused her face. "And may I say that the pleasure is all mine, lass."

His breath was warm against the back of her hand, and she pulled it back as soon as he loosened his grip, stuffing her hands into her back pockets as she dipped her head in awkward acknowledgement of his words.

"Um... thanks."

"Bloody hell Liam, leave the poor lass alone."

Emma's head snapped back to the door to take in the newcomer, something catching in the back of her mind at the voice. _Oh ...fuck._

Emma could scarcely believe her eyes. The man was tall and fit, with dark hair and stubble. He had an earring and his whole form screamed bad boy…. Except for the argyle sweater vest and the brown glasses perched on his nose. She had never, in her whole life, looked at a man and thought _wow he's just… adorable._

She watched as he looked her over, a lovely pink suffusing his cheeks as his mouth dropped open ever so slightly, before he cleared his throat and shook his head slightly. Then he quickly turned to Mary Margaret, offering her a glass baking pan covered in tin foil.

"Apologies milady, I had forgotten this down in the car. I hope you don't mind that I made the strawberry-rhubarb crisp again."

Mary Margaret took the pan with a knowing smile and easy poise. "Killian, you know as well as I do that half of the people coming are only showing up because they knew you'd bring something."

The man went even more pink as he raised a hand to scratch behind his ear. "Um, well that's kind of you to say, lass, but I'm sure it's not-"

"Yes, it is," interrupted David with a laugh, "Hell, the only reason I let her throw these damn things is because you bring dessert." Emma watched Mary Margaret turn with a raised eyebrow at her husband, who then sent her an appeasing smile. "Not that you need my permission to do anything, dear."

She nodded primly. "That's what I thought."

Emma continued to watch the scene unfold, still wrong footed and hyper aware of the two additions within the space of the loft. She didn't know what to do, or who these people were, and she had already fucked up once and she was probably an embarrassment to David and Ma-

"For shame, Mary Margaret, not offering us proper introductions to the lady."

Emma turned to look at the man beside her, Liam, and noticed a strange sort of smile on his face, an almost mischievous undertone lacing his words.

Mary Margaret waived her free hand at him. "Oh hush Liam, I was getting around to it. Emma, this is Liam and Killian Jones. David took over for Liam when he stepped down as Sheriff, and Killian works with me at school. Liam and Killian, this is our good friend and Henry's birth mother, Emma."

Emma felt her awkwardness fall away into anger as Mary Margaret callously threw out her relationship to Henry. She attempted to tamp it down and offer a sincere nod to both gentlemen. Mary Margaret did not seem to notice anything amiss and immediately turned into the hostess, encouraging the two gentleman to sit down and asking for drink orders. David wandered into the kitchen to give Mary Margaret a hand, leaving Emma to awkwardly stand in the middle of the room with nothing to do.

She hated feeling like this. She was used to having her feet firmly under her, but her decision to stay was so out of her norm that any consequences of that decision constantly threw her further and further off balance. She didn't like people, and she especially didn't like small town people.

She was aware that she was going to be the curio of the evening, but if Mary Margaret continued to flippantly reveal her true reason for being in town, Emma had a feeling that she would become the town's hottest new piece of gossip. And Emma did not like having her life discussed among strangers.

With a sigh, she ran a hand through her hair, trying to master her emotions enough to have a calm conversation with Mary Margaret, who she was sure was bound to take personal offence. As she squared her shoulders, she noticed that both gentlemen were eyeing her from their seats across the room on the couch. Liam had a puckish look about him while Killian's brows seemed to be puckered in either confusion or consideration.

She sent them a scowl as she moved to the kitchen, causing both men to drop their eyes. There was something about them, Killian in particular, that was nagging the back of her mind. Mary Margaret was working at the stove, while David was rummaging in the fridge. He straightened as she came into the room and opened his mouth to ask her something, but snapped his mouth shut when he saw her expression.

"I'll just take these drinks out to the guys." He then quickly made his exit.

Emma sucked in a breath, "Mary Margaret?"

"Hmmmmm?" She didn't look up from where she was stirring.

"Don't ever do that again."

She hadn't intended her tone to come out so harshly, but she was just too angry. At her words Mary Margaret froze, turning wide, innocent eyes to her in confusion.

"What do you mean, Emma? What did I do?"

Emma took another calming breath, "I understand that you enjoy being friends with everybody, but that does not give you the right to hand out information to people without permission. I never gave you permission to tell anyone about it, and I would think my actions up to now have made it abundantly clear that Henry's parentage was not something I wanted spread around."

Mary Margaret's eyes began to shine with tears. "Are you ashamed of it?" she asked with horror.

Emma bit back the harsher retort she wanted to say, reminding herself that despite her irritation, Mary Margaret was still one of her dearest friends.

"Of course I'm not. Henry is my son and I am proud of that. BUT," she raised her voice slightly to cut off Mary Margaret, "just because I don't feel the need to hide it, doesn't mean I feel like sharing it. It's my life, and my story, and my past. People who don't know me don't need to know anything about me. Do you understand?"

Mary Margaret's eyes still glittered with tears and confusion settled on her features, "But…"

"Mary Margaret, this isn't up for debate. What you think people should or shouldn't know is not what matters here. What matters is what I think. Because what you tell people directly affects me, so I am the only person who gets to decide who is told."

"But people will want to know that you are related to Henry so that they-" she started.

"This isn't about them!" The words came out much louder than intended, and she heard the low voices from the other room go silent. Emma lightly closed her eyes, suddenly wishing that she had never made this decision. The decision to stay. To try and be a part of something.

Without opening her eyes, she continued, "What other people want should have no bearing on whether or not you keep a secret. The only person whose opinion matters is the one who told it to you. I'm sorry to shout, but I've reached my limit over the last few days. And," she hesitated, but something in her told her that if this wasn't firmly nipped in the bud now, Mary Margaret could ruin something later, so she soldiered on.

"And if I can't trust you to keep my private life private, I can't be friends with you any more. I've cut enough people out of my life in the last couple days, I don't want to add one more. But if you can't respect this, and promise me you won't do it again, I'll have to say goodbye here."

She opened her eyes to see Mary Margaret's wide with horror and what look like offence and Emma tamped down the guilt that was threatening to rear its head. She should have known this was a bad idea. Nothing in her life lasts. Why should this be any different? Henry was probably better off without her anyway. She should just pack up and move on. Keep running. Walsh was right.

_No one could love a bitch like you. Not even your own parents. I'm starting to understand why that guy sent you to jail….No one could ever love you. Once an orphan, always an orphan._

When Mary Margaret made no move to speak, she just sighed and nodded, turning away, her ankle giving a particularly painful throb.

"I think I should get going."

"No Emma," Mary Margaret's hand gripped her upper arm, "no please don't go." Emma turned to look at her and was surprised that the tears had been replaced by a sort of steely determination. "You are right. I'm sorry. It wasn't my secret to tell. I promise you I will try to never do it again."

Emma raised an eyebrow at the qualifier, despite the blossoming of warmth within her. No one ever listened to her, and no one certainly went out of their way to change for her.

Mary Margaret offered a shy smile, "Well, I don't want to make a promise that I may end up breaking. But I promise to try my hardest not to. And if I do, I'll be sure to let you know as soon as I can. So that you know. If it means that much to you, it means that much to me."

Emma couldn't help her smile as she whispered, "Thank you Mary Margaret."

The smile she received back was one Emma had never had directed at her before. She'd seen it in movies, and in the couples she watched on the streets, but never at her. It was the smile that came out of healed wounds, out of communication and mended bridges. It was the smile of someone who loved her.

Guided by an impulse she'd never felt, she pulled Mary Margaret into a tight hug, not really knowing what else to do to express the emotions running through her, not caring about the pain in her leg at the step. Mary Margaret just squeezed her back.

When they stepped apart, Emma felt like her soul was lighter somehow, buoyed up by this knowledge that her wishes would be heard and respected. That _she_ was worth respecting.

"So," she said, smile still in place, "what can I help with?"

The evening passed much more enjoyably after that. Emma stayed mostly in the kitchen, acting as hostess in Mary Margaret's stead, while the woman herself socialized with her work friends and their partners. She used her throbbing ankle as a point of focus as she attempted to keep herself from limping. It made a perfect distraction from the irritation of small talk.

True to her word, Mary Margaret simply introduced her as a friend who was staying with them for a little while and nothing beyond that, and Emma was able to dodge the pointed questions from the noisier of the attendees.

It was as the food began to get put away that Emma found herself in a conundrum. She wouldn't be able to hide away much longer, now that the excuse of tending the kitchen was useless. She finished putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, deciding that a glass of something other than wine might be in order.

She began her search in the lower cabinets, and kept rummaging until her fingers found the glass outline of what could only be a whiskey bottle in the cabinet above the fridge. She stood on her tiptoes to try and get her fingers around the farthest edge but they just kept sliding off the glass. In a last ditch effort she stood on one foot to lengthen her reach and was immediately reminded of the state of her ankle.

"Fuck." She dropped back down to the ground with a wince as she stepped back, "Fucking thing."

"Sounds like you might need a drink to get a drink."

She whipped around to see the hot adorable guy that she had most certainly not been avoiding most of the night leaning casually on the door frame, legs crossed, the strangest mix of hot and dangerous and calm and moderated. Killian.

"Yeah, well …." She wasn't really sure how to rebut his words, and didn't quite realize it until the sentence had already started coming out of her mouth. "See if you can do any better." There was something so..._familiar_ about him. It was throwing her off.

A dark eyebrow crawled up his face from behind his glasses, "Is that a challenge love? Because I do love a challenge." In a move that looked rehearsed, he shoved off from the door frame with a swing of his hips. Emma refused to back down as he sauntered over to her until he was standing right in front of her.

As he came to a stop, the pressure pushed a gust of air towards her. Against her will, she got a deep breath of his smell and had to resist closing her eyes to inhale another. They stood, something like an impasse settling between them for a moment. Then a light not unlike the one that had glittered in his brother's earlier began to sparkle in his eyes. That was her only warning before he took the last step forward, practically pressing them together. Keeping eye contact with her, he pressed her trapped body into the refrigerator as he reached above her head.

She couldn't do anything but stare up at him. There was no threat to his body language and despite literally having nowhere to go, there was just something really non-threatening about the span of argyle sweater that was stretching out before her. But his eyes were a different story.

She had to remind herself to breathe as he continued his stretch, especially when he brought his hand up to brace himself against the fridge beside her. She should have felt caged in, but it only lasted a moment before he leaned back.

"There we are, love." It was soft as a whisper as it caressed her face and she had to blink several times before she realized that he was holding the bottle between them.

She cleared her throat, "Um. Thanks." Then she glanced down, eyebrows flying up in surprise. "Wow, Johnny Walker Blue. David's been hiding the good stuff!"

"Indeed he has." The words were murmured so softly that she almost thought she'd imagined them, but when she glanced back up at them, Killian's eyes were assessing the bottle in his hand, though the tips of his ears were a bit red.

Unsure what to say to that, she just grabbed the bottle, scoffing at herself in her head when she carefully avoided actually touching him. Quickly, she went back to a cabinet on the other side of the kitchen and grabbed two glasses, screwing the top off the bottle to pour them each a healthy measure.

Killian seemed to linger in his spot by the refrigerator for a moment, eyes flicking from the glasses on the counter before her to the door and back, and Emma could detect some sort of internal debate. Not wanting to see what decision he made and not sure why it mattered to her, Emma put the bottle down to grab one of the glasses, and tossed back half of it in one go, closing her eyes to savor the musky burn as whiskey dispersed in her chest.

By the time she opened her eyes, Killian seemed to have made up his mind, and was making his way across the kitchen, regarding her with curious eyes. He came to a stop on the other side of the island and grabbed the remaining glass, tilting the glass to her in a silent toast. She clinked her glass with his, watching with unneeded focus as he brought the glass up to his lips, closing his own eyes, and swallowed deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Watching the completely innocent action had Emma tossing back the rest of her own drink in a quick gulp, quickly reaching for the bottle to give herself a refill. She glanced up at Killian, an eyebrow raised in question. He shook his head, swirling his half a glass around and around as he watched her, lounging with one hip braced against the counter, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows.

There was a thick silence, and Emma was just deciding whether or not it was an awkward one when he sucked in a breath.

"So, you're Henry's birth mum then?"

The warmth of the scotch suddenly thickened into anger as she narrowed her eyes, trying to decide what he meant with the question.

"So what if I am?" she snapped.

He blinked at her tone, "Nothing, just that he's a wonderful kid. Extremely bright for a lad his age. Very imaginative."

"Oh," she deflated, not sure what to do with his sincere praise.

"Aye, ask anyone. I'm sure they'll all sing his praises."

Emma looked him over, "So you are one of his teachers then?"

He dipped his head, continuing to absentmindedly swirl his glass, "Aye, I teach history and drama, as well as some after school clubs."

She couldn't help the skeptical grin, "You teach drama?"

His eyes flashed up to hers as he feigned insult, "I'll have you know, I am a fabulous actor!"

She raised an eyebrow, "Right. Sure. Of course."

He opened his mouth but before he could get a word out, another voice carried into the room.

"EMMA SWAN YOU ARE NOT DRINKING MY BEST BOTTLE OF SCOTCH ARE YOU?"

David was standing at the doorway looking horrified. Emma quickly tossed back her second glass, "Nope. See my glass is empty. I wasn't drinking anything!"

She turned to share a conspiratorial look with Killian.

His face was white and he was looking at her with an expression she couldn't decipher. She was so startled that she couldn't even ask him what was wrong before David slapped him on the shoulder, "Ah well thanks for saving me some buddy!" as he pulled Killian's glass from his still frozen hand and tossed the amber liquid back.

Emma glanced away from Killian's face to watch David for just a half a moment, and when her eyes flicked back, the expression was gone, a faux irritated one taking its place, "Ah come on mate, you can get your own glass!" before snatching it out of David's hand.

He turned back to her, "Waddaya say love, grab the bottle and we'll ditch this joint?" in a painful American accent.

_"Whaddaya say Em's? You grab the bottle, I'll grab the cash, and we'll ditch this joint."_

Suddenly she understood exactly why Killian seemed so familiar. The boyish charm, the roguish danger he emitted, tempered by a well concocted air of innocence.

He was just like Neal.

"Actually, I need to get going."

Both of the men before her blinked in surprise at her sudden change.

"Emma?" David asked quietly. Killian just eyed her with concern.

She gave them both a false smile, "Sorry, seems like the last couple days just caught up with me. Thanks for the booze."

Without further ado, she limped back into the main room, deftly avoiding the other guests, grabbed her bag from where she'd left it that morning, and bolted out the door. It didn't matter that she didn't have anywhere to go. She just needed to go somewhere. Away from the ghosts.

_No one could love a bitch like you. Not even your own parents. I'm starting to understand why that guy sent you to jail….No one could ever love you. Once an orphan, always an orphan._

_I'm sorry, miss but you need to come with us. You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law._

_I love you Ems. I love you too Neal. Then would you help me with something?_

_Anything you say or do will be used against you._


End file.
